Page 141 of The Fine Line
“You want more?” I ask, my voice low. “You want me to give it to you?”
She turns her head to the side, trying to catch her breath, and I crawl over her, brushing hair from her face.
“You okay?”
She doesn’t answer. She just grabs me, strong and sudden, flipping us until she’s straddling me. Her eyes locked on mine, wild and determined. She spits in her palm, runs it between her legs, and strokes me once, slow and deliberate.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, head falling back.
She keeps going, working me up, pushing me to the edge and pulling me back like she’s in complete control.
“Who’s in control now?” she asks, voice low and smug.
You.
My heart is pounding.
It’s always been you.
She positions herself over me, and I grab her hips, grounding myself.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
She lifts her chin, meets my eyes. There’s a glimmer of something soft in her expression—a ghost of a smile.
Then she sinks down.
I swear I see stars.
She moves slowly at first, unhurried and in control,every roll of her hips deliberate. Her moans are soft, steady as she unabashedly chases the high—and God, it undoes me. I push up on my elbows, needing to see her, needing to watch every expression flicker across her face. When I can’t hold myself back anymore, I sit up and cradle her cheek, leaning in. When she tilts her head back at the last moment, my lips press against her neck.
She lets out the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
I kiss along her throat, trailing up and down, then guide her face back to mine. I hover, just for a second, then whisper, “Kiss me?”
It’s not a command. It’s a question. A real, vulnerable request.
She hears it. And she answers with a single, quiet word.
“No.”
My chest tightens. She looks away, starts to move again—but I stop her, gently rolling us over until I’m on top.
“Why not?” I ask, voice rasping.
Her brows pull together, and for a second, I think she might tell me everything I want to hear. But then she just shakes her head.
“Because… that’s not what this is.”
The pause that follows is long. It stretches between us like a fault line. My heart isn’t beating right anymore. It’s doing something else entirely. Sinking. Splintering.
“Why not?” I ask again, softer this time.
She doesn’t answer.
“Why can’t it be?”
She squirms against me, and when I don’t move, she lets out a sharp breath.
